So far, all my attempts to breathe a little life into our economy in these troubled times have met with little success. Selling off unopened vials of Andy Warhol's crystal meth on eBay (to collectors) got me a small fortune, but markets still remained stagnant, and apparently my idea for what I called an 'automobile' had been developed more than a century earlier. No matter how hard I tried to stimulate the economy, she rejected all of my Initial Public Offerings. I was near the end of my rope when, while sipping martinis off the stomachs of prostitutes with my good friend Ken Lay, he gave me a tip on a little known subsidiary of the Laura Lee corporation. This Division of Laura Lee was primarily concerned with producing the very sort of politically charged rock that should have been just the thing to jumpstart the markets and restore investor confidence. I was sold. After a series of hasty eleventh hour negotiations, the Division of Laura Lee was divested from its parent company, The Cayman Islands Offshore Holding Corporation, and I was about to learn, too late, that the Division would have a hard enough time vitalizing my stereo speakers, let alone a bear market.
The Sweden-based Division was allegedly taking cues from the Stooges and the Jesus and Mary Chain, among other successful ventures, so I immediately called my old frat buddy Alan Greenspan to come over and give them a listen. We played badminton and swilled some homemade rye whiskey, and I cranked out the sounds of Black City, the Division's latest product. The swaggering bass and crash of guitars at the heart of opener "Got to Get Some" didn't call to mind of any of their self-reported influences, but it was solid and infectious, even if the siren-like background electronics were a little over-the-top. Greenspan flippantly dismissed the boys as "The (International) Noise Conspiracy, with synths," but he doesn't hold the cards in this particular review (though his thorough examinations of Cerberus Shoal and Earth Crisis are nothing to scoff at).
Undeterred, I stuck to my guns and was immediately pleased as "We've Been Planning This for Years" took the slow burn of the lead track and intensified it. "Planning" exploded like a powderkeg out of the opener's ashes; Per Stalberg's cries of "money will break your fall" coupled the political savvy I'd been looking for with a musclebound onslaught of riffs and fills. "Number One" continued the landslide of guitar-fueled aggression. Most of the band's time was spent railing against the evils of capitalistic profit ideals, but none of that was of any import with a delivery this sweeping, passionate and invigorating. Beneath the slick, barbed hooks I could almost hear the markets strengthening. Alan was reserving judgment, though; he muttered something about whether or not the band could maintain this level of activity. Sure, it might have been a fluke, but the first three tracks showed consistent growth and I was willing to bank on them.
Alan was right, though, as fucking usual. Prescient bastard. The energy of the opening proved to be just a first-quarter surge. The moment I took Black City public, the bubble of enthusiasm surrounding the early tracks burst, and the rest of the album lost its footing. "Trapped In" and "I Guess I'm Healed" started to take the Division in entirely the wrong direction. These lazy, weak-kneed stabs at vaguely sinister slow numbers were D.O.A.; the Division just didn't seem to be able to infuse them with enough soul. For the same reasons, "I Walk on Broken Glass" tanked like Iraqi Special Forces. In context, it was more like the Division just needed a break, rather than actually wanting to produce the sort of sincere, intimate ballads they were trying their hand at. Rumors spread on Wall Street that my Division of Laura Lee had been artificially inflating their rock acumen and investors fled. I was out like Worldcom.
In their defense, the Swedes made a few more passable attempts to recapture the spirit of Black City's early moments to show that they wouldn't drop without a fuss. There were a handful more barnburners left-- notably "Pretty Electric" and "Access Identity"-- but with the spotty pacing of the remainder of their portfolio, it just never felt as natural as their initial strutting posture. Eventually, the Division of Laura Lee's Black City turned in a modestly successful effort, interspersed with a few hits and misses, although even at its best it wasn't anything that hadn't been done before. My options had taken a nose-dive, and I finally knew what it meant to have the financial rug pulled out from under me. The moral of the story was obvious: listen to Alan Greenspan, and when a band promises non-stop rocking, make sure their heart is in it before you bet the farm.
